


The Tender Kiss of Judas

by Draconovich



Series: One Shots and Gifts Galore! [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Coulson Does What He Wants, If the Bus is a Rockin' Don't Come Knockin', Inaccurate Pagan Rituals with Gag Gifts, M/M, Tahiti is a Magical Place, dancing around a spoiler mindfield... don't think I hit anything, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconovich/pseuds/Draconovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You want to know what I want for my birthday? I'll tell you!" Gulping back the hot beverage with the barest of a wince, he rises to begin pacing, his soft deceptively amiable voice rising and firming with the tell tale stress he'd been bottling up.</p><p>Striding to pace within his quarters, Phil gestures with emphatic meaning to accent his words as his control crumbles from his grip.</p><p>"I want Loki, that self serving Asgardian Asshole, bound in chains and on my desk. Furthermore, I want his 'Godliness' to deliver information on this blasted Centipede I KNOW he likely has, and then I'm going to give HIM a jab he'll never forget!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tender Kiss of Judas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Petreska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petreska/gifts), [Happy Birthday to you!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Happy+Birthday+to+you%21).



Within the Bus, the gregarious group of SHIELD agents that slowly melded in to a playfully dysfunctional family were sitting around the bar, eating a meal so generously cooked by Agent May… beef chow fun. The succulent aroma filled the lounge of the pan fried flat rice noodles, meat, and vegetables had been an aromatic enticement, summoning nearly all of the available crew to a lunch that was often a favored treat for the other members of the 'Family'. With the exception of the'Wonder Twins'(who  either accidentally, or intentionally experimental, disastrous cuisine was cause for their elimination), the crew was on a rotational basis for meal cook ranging from Ward's abysmally bland sandwiches or MRI meals to Skye's creative and hearty one pot wonders stemming from survival scavenged dining in the past. Agent May's Cantonese recipes and penchant to procure fresh supplies when possible made her shift one to be anticipated most by the other members… especially the savory noodles that seemed to edge a hint of 'home' despite her cool callous demeanor.    
  
With Fitz and Simmons already parked upon the stools, chattering away over a recent theory on making 'gamma radiation sensing color changing gel'… or gamma goo as Skye calls it… they are happily sitting with plates ready and utensils toyed with in ever nimble hands fidgeting in eagerness, and Ward tackling the cleaning of dishes to minimize clean up after the fact, they seemed to be two souls short of the complete set.  
  
Agent Coulson, in fact, had been holed up all day in his office… under the pretense of 'Extenuating Red Tape Detangling and Superfluous Paperwork', the fatherly senior agent seemed to have hidden himself like a stubborn turtle in it's shell… a melancholic mask that the older members already knew, and some of the younger are beginning to learn… meant to cover painfully stinging wounds.  
  
Which leads to why, now, Skye is not there amassed with the other eager diners… though she would be the first to admit her fondness for the Bus Driver's cooking even if the chef herself was a particularly hard stone to warm up to. She's getting there, though… Skye is, if anything… persistent and well intending despite her errors of youth and lament leading 'liberalism'.  
  
Now, more than anything, Skye is learning the true weight of secrets… the very things she wanted, at one point, to advertise to all of the world. How some things are buried to spare people a great deal of pain and fear.  
  
It didn't mean she would stop her digging. Oh, no. Like the industrious minor she is, she is spelunking for something… some modicum of intel, a tantalizing tidbit to explain why Coulson would sequester himself from, perhaps, one of his favorite dishes. And she KNEW May traded lunch duty with her to try to seduce the sequestered man with it's tantalizing aroma akin to a succubus' perfume.  
  
But, it seems, even THAT would not do for him.  
  
So, like the concerned techno-savvy hacker she is, she wanted to know WHY, and she danced her fingers over the keys, cracking codes and slithering through encryptions to scavenge for any information on the man who'd helped her so much… in so many ways. What bothered her, however… is how his own file seemed to be as sequestered and belligerently blacked out as her own were… until his basic personal file presented something to her. A small tidbit she'd overlooked twice before it slammed home like a cuff upside her head.  
  
Oh.  
  
OH!  
  
A Date.  
  
Part of the cursed blessing of being a skilled assassin and special ops agent in the past, is Melinda has exceptional control within moments of abrupt surprise. Hence, they were saved from the disaster of a potential fire hazard as her skilled sure hands never falter as she continues to cook and flip the noodles in her wok as their chaotic adopted pet hacker abruptly leaps into the cozy contentment of the lunchtime setting.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me it's Coulson's Birthday?!" The capricious hacktivist bounced with a concerned flounce into the seat beside Fitz and Simmons, snapping them from their goo-centric conversation to stare first from the other member closest to their age to the older pair.  
  
"I didn't know… and neither should you." Ward states flatly, turning to settle a flat withering warning look spiced with frustration to the woman who just couldn't keep her nose out of the wrong places. Of course, THAT's why she's a member of their team, but that's beside the point. Doing it FOR them, against someone else didn't bend rules… and he certainly wasn't someone comfortable with bending or breaking rules. To emphasize his point, he shakes a sudsy spoon at the girl, dark brows furrowing into a look of solemn importance and grim chastisement… lessened a bit by the fluffy drifting bubbles.  
  
As usual, the warning for her own safety is ignored as the dynamic duo beside her manages that silent communicating stare with each other for but a second before replying.  
  
"I didn't know…" Fitz began, only to be smoothly continued by his partner in lab mischief.  
  
"… that it's his Birthday."  
  
Four pairs of eyes raised, then, to Melinda May who briskly flicked the noodles in the wok before she shut off the fire, beginning to dish a bit of the noodles into a plate, unconcerned.  
  
Planting a pair of chopsticks upon the plate, she poured a bit of hot tea from the sturdy electric ceramic kettle into a thermos before holding the pair out to Skye.  
  
"Bring this to him. If he attempts to refuse, tell him you will call for the Calvary." Though grimly pokerfaced neutral, there is that subtle quirk of the lips that hints to a faint smile… an expression that brings a sigh of ease from the girl's lips as she finds that insurmountable wall the woman seems to bear not as imposing as it had initially. Over time, and events, they'd warmed together, understanding growing and with it… the beginnings of trust.  
  
And so a warm smile is returned to May as the youngest member nods, turning to the  door and ignoring the chatter beginning behind her from the science twins embarking in their own questions.  
  
The door to Coulson's quarters and office seemed oddly imposing… more so than usual. It wasn't the usual barrier, be it for privacy or safety it normally was. It was a barrier to try to keep the world out, and himself safely within. Pausing a moment… Skye then musters her gumption to knock on the door with the thermos with a loud thunking rap.  
  
Head snapping up like a dog that catches the sound of a whistle upon the wind, the suit clad man, sans jacket, jerked to sit up straight in his chair . Reaching up to rub a few paperclips and sticky notes from his face, the bleary eyed Agent turns to stare about the now familiar confines of his quarters, stuck partially… still… with a memory of his past that leave his heart racing with a wild cantered pace and a cold sweat sticking his shirt to his back.  
  
"Hey, Papa Bear… Mama Bear cooked dinner. I brought you some." Drawing in a sharp breath, the Agent leans back against his chair with a soft creak, peering to the door where the voice came from, and after a long moment to regather his bearings, he reaches up to rub over his eyes. Just as he is about to part his lips to reply… Skye's voice sounds through the door… subtly muffled, but the words are OH so clear and catches his attention quite vividly.  
  
"Don't make me call in the Cavalry…"  
  
With a rustled scrabble and scramble to the door, it's unlocked with a sharp click to reveal a rather uncharacteristically haggard looking Phil Coulson. Fine brows rise as the brunette peers to the older man who looked, oddly… OLDER at the moment.  
  
"Phil… you look like something the Chitauri threw up. C'mon… park it. I'll bring this to you."  
  
"You… Agent May teaming together… what is this… Mutiny?" Stepping back, he absently tugs his loosened tie a little straighter as he saunter back to his chair, sitting with a great sigh. As the plate is settled before him, despite the haunted blandly unhappy expression, a winsome smile graces his lips as he plucks up the chopsticks.  
  
"Nah, not yet, Captain Ahab. Be too grumpy, and we might have to." Dropping herself unceremoniously to sit across from him, she nibbles lightly on her lower lip, drumming her fingers over the polished wood of his desk. "So… I get the whole secret agent hush hush stuff… but tell me, what do you want for your birthday?"  
  
Slate gray eyes widen with unabashed shock and surprise at the bluntly presented question.  
  
His Birthday. Oh, he shouldn't be surprised the girl knows… it's a given that she's been trying to learn what she can of them.  But her concern for such a trivially domestic matter…  
  
He shakes his head, beginning to poke and stir his noodles with the chopsticks as his lips purse with a stubborn grim air, an expression he entertains before going into a particularly nasty mission or dealing with superior ranked individuals he little cares for.  
  
"I'm too old for these things."  
  
Huffing an inelegant snort, the girl shakes her head as she begins pouring the hot oolong tea into the cap cup, the aromatic scent wafting into the air before she places it before him.  
  
"You're never too old. And don't give me that 'Agents Don't Have Birthdays' junk. That's bravado to cover insecurity."  
  
For a long moment, Coulson stares back to the girl seated across from him, shrewd senior agent with youthful techno genius… and an odd feeling of self cutting pride gnaws at him.  
  
"You know, I'm beginning to regret what I told you about your skills with people and becoming great. It's going to your head."  
  
With a flippant grin, she meets that stubborn stare back. "Nah, just trying to get in your head. So…what? Fuzzy Dice for Lola? Captain America costume for Halloween? What? While we're out here in base Dal-whatever in Nowhere USA for the next few days, it's either let me find you a gift, or I'll start snooping around this coolio research base for nifty secrets."  
  
Politely, Skye nudges the cup of tea closer to Phil as he begins to choke on the noodles at her words before he takes the drink to help clear his raw throat, rubbing the afflicted part of his body. She would. She ABSOLUTELY would. Well, may as well as give her an impossible task, no?  
  
"You want to know what I want for my birthday? I'll tell you!" Gulping back the hot beverage with the barest of a wince, he rises to begin pacing, his soft deceptively amiable voice rising and firming with the tell tale stress he'd been bottling up.  
  
Striding to pace within his quarters, Phil gestures with emphatic meaning to accent his words as his control crumbles from his grip.  
  
"I want Loki, that self serving Asgardian Asshole, bound in chains and on my desk. Furthermore, I want his 'Godliness' to deliver information on this blasted Centipede I KNOW he likely has, and then I'm going to give HIM a jab he'll never forget!"  
  
Silence settles uneasily as the last hollered words ring in the quiet contained room, disturbed only by his heavily drawn breaths.  
  
Finally, with a low groan, Phil regathers himself to sit in his chair, looking utterly drained as he covers his eyes with his hands, rubbing his haggard weary face to try to erase his unseemly outburst. It was, however, something building, ready to burst like an over burdened stew pot.  
  
The Agent, however, drops his hands slowly, blinking as words greet him most unexpectedly.  
  
"All right… but I'm gonna need the company vehicle."  
  
Phil had a bad feeling about this. But more so, he had a worse feeling about what she would do to procure a ride. At least they could track the truck. "Fine." He sighs lowly.  
  
\-----  
  
Of the many things Loki Liesmith, God of Mischief had experienced in his vast stretch of existence, never… NEVER in his wildest dreams, would he believe he would be summoned by a mortal calling his name, doing a bizarre dance, and sacrificing… of all things… a rubber chicken.  
  
Perhaps, 'God of Mischief' was being reinterpreted the wrong way with the humans of  this day and age, but if a mortal was willing to debase themselves in such a manner, the least he could do was appear, if only to see how this humorous debacle would unfold.  
  
Thus far, it is proving to be an amusing show, as he observes in hidden silence, cloaked in invisibility as he watches the lass prance about the wooded area waving a rubber chicken and proclaiming words of summons to the Great God Loki of Chaos, Mischief…etc. Well, at least she bothered to learn his titles, that was a plus… and he had to admit, that she was dancing around a small fire of cloyingly smoking mistletoe was a nice touch.  
  
Skye, after several hours of ridiculous effort groans as she drops to sit upon a shorn stump, resting her arms upon her knees, forehead upon the back of one of her hands as a low sound of frustration escapes the brunette clad in a loose green shirt.  
  
"Fuck… I feel like SUCH an idiot… what am I thinking?"  
  
"Oh, please don't stop." A smooth velveteen voice purr from the darkness, just from behind that stump as Loki appears with a glorious flourish of softly whispering leather, resplendent in full armor and that infamous horned helm. "I am rather enjoying the show."  
  
In a jerked twisted motion of reflex, Skye snaps to her feet, swinging the rubber chicken towards the sound of that voice, the squeal of the floppy bird seeming loud in the woods as it strikes the glorious God ineffectually in the chest. A rather long and awkward silence prowled behind the unpredictable and comically futile reaction. Silently, the SHIELD adoptee hopes beyond all hope that the deadly god doesn't decide to rip her apart for the discourteous action.  
  
An aristocratic brow lofts as he merely peers down to the wide staring brown eyes of the woman… no… the child that DARED to strike him with a limp false fowl after summoning his presence so demandingly. He maintains a bemused quirk of a smile upon his lips.  
  
"Oh… wow. I didn't think that it would work. I mean…. I DID, or I wouldn't have done it… but… yeah. Hi. My name's Skye… and I have a pretty damn sweet deal to offer you."  
  
Now THIS is something new… some lowly mortal offering HIM a deal? Oh, he'd had so-called worshippers that prayed and demanded, offering tithings of things he could care less about. But who DAREs to present him a deal like a bazaar merchant. To approach the one who destroyed a part of New York… that is quite the brave and bold venture to make. In a way, it reminded him of some of his own past exploits when he was far younger. Nostalgia tinged curiosity held the God's presence, and he deigned to at least listen to the girl's offered terms.  
  
Leather creaks, dappled sunlight gleaming upon golden horns as the Chaos God shifts his hip slightly, arms crossing over his chest as the elegant predator shares a gleaming smile with the young mortal standing BOLDLY before him presenting an offering.  
  
"Well, then… let us see how well you sell it, shall we?"  
  
~~~  
  
The problem with secret bases and hidden military hideaways… is there is often a lacking of decent dining. Now, where the Bus had landed this time, in a place buried so thick in woods, seasonal allergies are nearly a deadly force, one would think it the same. However, not here… no. And so, with everyone roundly denouncing dinner duties, the SHIELD family packed together and made their way to a surprisingly exceptional Indian cuisine restaurant nestled within the middle of nowhere. Oddly convenient, but a wonderful change of pace. Even Coulson seemed to have forgotten his festering ires of earlier that day, and they all feasted upon the wildly flavorful fare, pampered by a pleasant family who mastered the art of making a customer feel welcome.  
  
No one mentioned the 'B' word, but it was mutually agreed that their Leader wouldn't be able to touch that check. Between a distraction provided by the science duo, nimble pick pocket skills on Skye's part to pluck the check from the table, and Mae's deceptively subtle hand off of it to Ward already at the register speaking with the owner, it was a team effort that flowed positively perfectly.  
  
More than almost anything, being able to see his entire team work together so seamlessly… even against himself… that was, indeed, a gift for the mastermind behind the team, and Coulson felt a surge of pride and warmth in his scarred chest for the motley crew he has grown to think of as family. It brought a soft fond smile to his lips, returning to him, once more, that pleasant sweet exterior everyone knew. Mercifully, for the night, the others of his crew were granted rooms to stay at the base Inn & Suite, but Coulson preferred to remain upon the plane… deciding to remain within the comforts of the enclosed space… safe, secure, in his mind.  
  
His birthday rang painfully for him. Not as another reminder of growing older, or having less domestically accomplished than most men his age… but he finds himself haunted more with ponderings of his own death and new life he'd seemed to have gained. Tahiti seemed like a magical place… but thus far, all the magic he'd experienced had been utterly unpleasant. Still, he found himself amused by the sight of his 'children' herded by the Mother Hen May to collect their bags to bring to the comfort of full sized rooms to stay in a half mile from where the Bus is parked on the air strip. All, however, except one. Turning to stride to his quarters, he stops dead still, finding Skye closing the door of his own office behind her back.  
  
Initially, the spy feels a gnawing edge of caution… habitual suspicion, however, musings of what covert activity she may have been indulging in are promptly squashed as rather than looking guilty or cautious, she looks to be downright beaming, pleased. And brimming with mischief he had grown to know all too well.  
  
That look, more than anything, prevents Phil from moving, from speaking as Skye bounces up to him with her bag slung over her shoulder, grinning grandly as she she damn near squeezes his back into alignment with a gregarious hug. "Happy Birthday, Phil!" And like a mischievous Zephyr, she races out of the hanger before it closes, waving to him as she wedges herself into the vehicles with the others.  
  
What did she do?  
  
That question rings in his head, echoing with possibilities… hopping for sappier, praying it's easy to clean, and immediately, the director races to the door of his private quarters, thrusting the door open… and stared to his 'Gift' sitting upon his desk that had been carefully cleared save for what she obviously left him.  
  
To top things off, was a single lit candle, flame dancing and flickering like an eldritch fire spire. Put through the hole of several powdered and chocolate donuts set up as a tower on the plate. That… wasn't the strangest part, however. The plate sat upon the metal and leather covered chest of none other than the Liesmith that had been the death of him, enwrapped in chains, and his wrists ensnared in the energy suppressing cuffs meant to hold the supernatural and enhanced critters SHIELD seems to be cursed with cleaning up. With hands bound over his head and attached to a chain running under the desk to the bonds about his ankles, the God looked to be less of a fettered god, and more of a fantasy themed model from a fetish site on the wondrous world wide web. And most humorous, was the manila sealed file folder taped to the twin curving golden horns of the ancient entity's helm.  
  
"You certainly have unusual tastes, Little Agent. Your Minion, however, is rather bold, if creative." Casually spoken despite the compromising position, those shamelessly amused green eyes meet with the winter grey ones of the man standing stock still at the door.  
  
Loki. Loki HERE. On his desk. Bound and…  
  
Agent Phil Coulson isn't certain if he should be proud, or alarmed by Skye's resourcefulness. If he should be thrilled to receive exactly what he asked for, or alarmed that LOKI is HERE. For one thing… to give him what he asked for, IS impressive, but the last place he wanted the God of Chaos, is in the home of his team. Instinctively, he turns to glance behind him, recalling well the backstabbing method of before… however, he steps closer within the room, closing the door behind him as he crosses his arms over his chest.  
  
"Forgive me if I find it a bit unbelievable that Skye managed to force you here as a captive."  
  
A low irreverent snort escapes the god, making the candle flicker and waver with the movement. Gingerly, Phil strides forward to pluck up the plate to prevent the wax from spilling as he carefully blows out the candle.  
  
"Perhaps I am bored, and consider the adventurous whims of a human to see me bound and displayed like a prized catch promising to be entertaining. You did not strike me as the sort to be so adventurously lasciviously inclined, my dear Agent Coulson."  
  
For a moment, the donuts are forgotten in his grasp as Phil stares to the man splayed over his desk with a raise of a brow to the obvious  misunderstanding of Phil's intentions. And, knowing the sneaky bastard, the crafty agent suspected it to be intentional, a way to tease and attempt to fluster the normally unflappable agent. Well, two could certainly play this game. Moving to his chair, he sits with a soft creak, placing the plate once more upon the God's chest as he plucks the candle free.  
  
"Well, I certainly would find myself sleeping better at night if I took the lead in a rousing game of BDSM with an Asgardian Sorcerer. But, more to the point… really, why are you here, Loki? How did Skye talk you into this? Or do you just like being tied up in compromising positions?"  
  
"Centipede." Loki finally relents, however, even, his amused calm flickers with mild surprise as the human rises to the challenge, teasing him back with a shameless casualness. "I fine them revolting, to be perfectly honest. There are Gods, and there are Mortals. A few… very few… may cross those boundaries one way or the other, but they are exceptional individuals such as your Captain and the Hulk. Such is the nature of balance. Heroes versus villains, good versus evil, a balance of powers, in the end. One needs the other, simply put. When mortals attempt to become 'gods' en masse, it is vulgar. Something not even I can tolerate."  
  
"Hmm… could it be that you feel threatened with more fish growing in the pond?" With the question presented, Coulson is easily anticipating the train of thought Loki's response will bring, and being as masterful as he is in reading people, the spy is verily right on the money. And somehow, the banter, though predictable, seems to be comfortingly casual between the murderer and victim.  
  
"A pond filled with only the larger dominating fish will die out because of the upheaval of it's ecosystem." Loki replies with a wry quirk of his lips, a rather unsettling captive who is taking his bondaged state in an unsettlingly mirthful demeanor.  
  
"As much as I hate to admit this, and I really do, but I have to agree with you. Then again, it's the people who don't that keep me gainfully employed, so I suppose I can't completely complain." Phil remarks to the god bound upon his desk like a hapless sacrifice upon the alter of a garishly gory hollywood horror movie. Absently, he chews upon the chocolate miniature ring of confectionary goodness, savoring the donut slowly as the sharp witted agent silently ponders why he isn't more repulsed… or afraid… as he SHOULD be of the deity.  
  
"I simply MUST inquire, as I found the prospect of a man I am rather certain I had slain wishing for me as a present entertaining… how ARE you alive? I have spent centuries perfecting the art of the perfect strike, my dear Agent. The precision of that strike should have killed you swiftly, but with minimal pain… a worthy enough demise for your usefulness and perceptiveness." Absently, those long pale fingers flex and clench with a smooth fluid motion, a graceful fluttering movement of curiosity and graceful energy being controlled in this awkward position.  
  
"Tahiti is a magical place." Coulson replies, voice smooth despite the knot twisting itself within him. Yes, how many times HAD he said that in the past… and yet, speaking those familiar, habitual words to the chaos god before him, they seemed bitter, acrid like the aftertaste of an artificial sweeter, nudging the doubt that slumbered still within him. Dormant, yes… but still there.  
  
With that subtle hint of a frown, gracing the corners of the agent's lips, that subtle pursing of his brows, Loki silently delights at the conflict he is seeing roiling, festering beneath the calm efficient facade.  
  
"Part of the reason I am trussed like a feast's deer before you, my poor confused Agent, is that… simply put, you intrigue me. For some reason, Hel approached me rather irate that your name had been crossed out of her book, though it was by my responsibility you were slain. You were dead… and more than a mere flicker as human lives occasionally do thanks to your modern medicine and stubborn natures."  
  
Those sharp grey eyes raise to snap upon the Trickster's own green… attempting to read deceit, mocking… anything in the Liesmith. However… there is none… merely an avid wolfish amusement and curiosity. Rising, Coulson sets the plate aside as he leans over the leather and armor clad man's chest. A brittle brutal THUD echoes within as he slammed his hands on either side of the the grinning god's head to glare intently into the deity's eyes in his attempt to assert a dominating presence over the precariously vicarious fellow.  
  
"This isn't a game… all I know is Tahiti, Tahiti is a magical place… and if you're playing games, so help me God…"  
  
Delight and vast amusement rises within the trickster, verily brimming with a viciously vivacious curiosity, only grinning wider as the human cages him in with that dominating gesture. Dominate? The human TRULY thought he could take so superior a position to a GOD?! He'd never thought the deceptively benign Secret Agent could be so entertaining!  
  
Leather creaks, metal clanking with a subtle rustle upon the solid wood as Loki shifted somewhat, a token struggle to further excite the normally placid man, and to ease a bit of his own rising energy in this confined trapped position. "Oh, my dear Mortal. You DARE speak to me about magic? I specialize in many forms of magic… but my most effective… the one I know most intimately…" The word is purred with a warm tease, a shamelessly illicit twist to the word meaning to confuse and nudge the man above him off his guard. "… is illusion. I am the Lie Smith, after all. Whether it be deception through trickery or the art of legerdemain and seidr illusions. Tell me… how was Tahiti?"  
  
Not even before that word escaped before the resounding sound of flesh striking flesh filled the room, and shortly after, a low curse. Coulson couldn't help the impulsive punch that he'd aimed at the leering face, however despite the throbbing pain radiating from his knuckles, and he knew they were going to be bruised from that one hit. Asgardians are, to note, dense in so MANY ways.  
  
Shaking out his hand absently, he finds himself muttering low words. "Don't say anything about that place." And, that rare feeling of irritation, sparked by a strange unease in his gut and the odd wall of unanticipated stubbornness in his mind, further grows as the God of Chaos begins to laugh heartily. _Don't Question Tahiti._  
  
"My my! Such a love tap! I would have thought such a paradise would make for pleasant memories!" The mischief maker spoke quite jovially, casually careless of the inner battle evident within the man above him, or that he seems to be further aggravating the normally calm and collected Agent's ire.  
  
And further Loki's voice rang out in an almost musical laughter, an evident mirth as Phil grabs the horned helm, yanking it away to allow the dark curling locks to spill out over the darkened wood of the desk. That wolfish grin bares wider, into a predatorial leer to greet the angered agent as Phil snakes his hands into the locks close to the deity's scalp and grips with a tightening masterful twist, evoking a sibilant hiss from his 'present'.  
  
"How delightful, you are simply BURNING with ire!"  
  
"Don't talk about Tahiti." Come the words with a forbidding low tone, faintly laced with a growl in the usually unassuming voice. With a vivacious vivid cunning, those sharp green eyes, narrowed with a shrewd intellect and bright with playful secrecy, stare back to the stormy grey of the mortal attempting to subdue him, threaten him. Loki merely smirks grandly, raising his eyebrows as the stinging of his scalp surges a delightful excitement in the immortal madman.  
  
Trust a SHIELD agent to know how to bring pain to even a God. In a way, Loki found it highly amusing, and something worth sharing his attention to, at the moment.  
  
"Oh? Why not? Wouldn't you simply LOVE to talk about your activities? And those famous lovely black sand beaches… surely you must have been cleaning the troublesome granules out of your travel bag for quite some time after."  
  
 _This god, how DARE he question Tahiti?! It's magical! It's… it's…._  
  
Wait.  
  
"Tahiti… has black sand…" His head began to swim, hurt… resounding with an infinite loop of something he should be doing. A logic loop that began to resonate with something utterly WRONG.  
  
 _Don't question…._  
  
"But my suitcase didn't have one grain of it. Not one." Coulson murmurs low… his fingers twitching in the trickster's hair. And now, he eyes that perfect memory… too perfect. Glowing white beaches beyond the hut…  
  
Sands, that… actually… looked more Hawaiian.  
  
And at that moment, as he stared into those victoriously amused eyes of the God upon the table, it felt as if his mind… like a dog in the yard with a tether to prevent it from roaming too far… became unchained with the snap of brittle links.  
  
Trailing his hand away, Coulson merely drops to sit within his chair with a low squeak… seeing the memory, and yet, now, it felt hollow… like a Hollywood facade. He simply couldn't see beyond it. All that anger melted away from the SHIELD agent as he merely stared to the man who tricked… who MANIPULATED him into doing something that should have come so naturally. Questioning the questionable.  
  
"How did you know?" Soft words, almost as lost and confused as his expression, are settled to the mad God served before him.  
  
"Oh, that is a rather simple matter, you see. Being a sorcerer with a great expertise with deception and manipulation magics, I know what signs to look for within one who has had their mind altered or controlled. And once knowing and being able to mentally defend myself… even the Chitauri's scepter could not fully control me." Casually, the cuffed conman speaks… providing just enough information to raise further questions, even as casually and charismatically he speaks with hands flitting in gestures despite their trapped positions, like any masterful salesman, it left the audience hungry for more.  
  
Folding his arms over his chest, Coulson eyes the showman with a deep sighed breath, drawing upon his wits, as he prepares to match them with the troublemaker before him. By all means, he should attempt to destroy the murderous madman, to contact Fury. And yet, he KNOWS that Loki has vital information that could be immeasurably beneficial to him. Plucking up a powdered donut, he noticed how those sharp green eyes followed it with an avid interest, almost hungrily tracking the powdered treat. This discovery draws a spring of curiosity in the Assassin. Why would the god bear an interest in something humans deem below substandard dining. Breaking the treat in half, he speaks slowly after chewing upon one half.  
  
"Tell me, Loki, what do you know about what happened to me?"  
  
"Why should I tell you, little mortal, of all people?" The deity inquired with an aristocratic loft of a raven brow… teasing the man above him with a shameless teasing. Parting his lips to tease further, a low hummed sound, almost a throaty purr escapes the leather clad man as the sweet treat was placed between his mouth in an effective gag, silencing an acrid taunt with it's sweetness melting against the sorcerer's tongue. A fine shiver slithers through the bound form.  
  
"I can very well pry the information from you. I'm certain I can find ways to bring even YOU agony without remorse."  
  
And furthermore, like all devils, Loki would doubtlessly be partial to a deal.  
  
"Don't even bother, my dear little Agent. Pain is an old friend to me, that I have known quite intimately." And that glorious bastard that he is, the shameless sorcerer darts a pink tongue to lick the remainder of the sweet dust powder lingering upon his lips… an utterly illegal act to show before an enemy. How the hell could Coulson NOT notice?! Bag of cats indeed… The God of Mischief is the embodiment of distraction. Phil didn't remember him being this… explicit before. "You do realize you can catch more flies with honey than with cayenne pepper, yes?"  
  
"Are you ALWAYS this libidinously frivolous, or did my Birthday fall upon your bootycall time of the month?"  
  
Blessedly blunt, this question captures the God of Mischief by surprise, earning a blink of those bright emerald eyes before he breathes a hearty laugh, dropping his head back as the remarkably honest amusement wracks the tied form upon the desk.  
  
"How quite amusing! Perhaps I find your perceptiveness and challenge… invigorating." With a wry quirk of his lips, Loki merely tilts his head aside as he studies the man before him. "Of course, if we should be discussing sexual habits, when was the last time you indulged in a carnal act? Tahiti?"  
  
For a long moment Phil stares to Loki with a deadly grim expression, leading the normally flippant deity to wonder if he'd crossed just a LITTLE too far. And when Phil rises to stalk out of his private space, leaving the tethered god strapped upon his desk, Loki breathes a low groan with a growing dismay. Wonderful. He'd driven his amusement away.  
  
Just as he closes his eyes and begins to feel along those cuffs to test their strength and make a private assessment of the lock, he finds himself distracted unexpectedly by something thudded down beside his head. Vivid viridian eyes blink open wide before raising to the thing sitting beside his head… a large container filled with a tell tale deep amber thick liquid he readily recognizes.  
  
"What is this for?"  
  
"I'm planning on catching a few flies." Coulson states as he places a large metal sturdy case beside the desk with a heavy ominous thud before he shrugs out of his dark espionage cliche jacket with a soft rustle, settling it over the back of his chair in a drape to prevent wrinkles from marring it's pristine professionalism. With the quirked look of inquiry rising from the God, he offers a deceptively benign smile, a calm pleasant look that… somehow, raises Loki's instincts to scream in alertness.  
  
"Do you think you will pry my secrets from me with a bottle of honey?" Loki questioned with a smooth veneer of cool aplomb, watching the human with a keen attentiveness as the man loosened his tie before rolling up first one sleeve, then the other.  
  
With an eyebrow raising in calm thoughtful bemusement, Coulson reaches down to begin meticulously feeling over the armor and the long jacket protecting the deity's torso, easily finding every clip, clasp, and buckle with a grim professionalism.  
  
"With honey? You misunderstand, Loki. I'm a high level agent. If your specialty is illusion, mine is interrogation." Clicks and metallic clinks and chimes fill the silence, each sound hastening the mischief maker's pulse as he hangs into Coulson's every word. Despite their difference in species, standing… and everything else, he found himself genuinely enthralled in curiosity to find what surprises this man promises.  
  
Like a spiny crab being plucked of it's protective carapace to reveal the tender meat within, the pieces of armor drop to the floor with dull thuds and metallic clinks, leather murmuring in hushed protests as the Agent pries the coat open, peeling it away along with the straps like a specimen with it's skin flayed open, revealing the alabaster flawless skin over sleek honed muscle of the smooth chest and torso, a draping of deceptively soft flesh over taut muscle of a body that could snap bone like a single uncooked piece of pasta.  
  
"You see… I'm not going to make you talk, Loki." Phil, in his pleasant, sweet way, with that kindly softly sheepish smile, spoke gentle words to Loki as he flicked the case's clasps open with a pair of ominous clicks in the silent room. "I'm going to make you sing." And then he opens the case, allowing Loki to see the array of devices nestled within, gleaming in the light with a menacing radiance.  
  
Brilliant emerald eyes widen in an unexpected shock, locking upon the contents of the case as the God of Chaos finds himself… in an exceedingly rare moment… utterly shocked by the mind of mortals if they are truly capable to conceive of such devices. And as a shudder raced through the bound form, a near breathless whisper escapes Loki as Coulson plucks up the honey bottle to flick the cap open with an ominous SNAP that made the mad god flinch despite himself.  
  
"By the Norns!"  
  
~~~  
  
The first thing that greeted May in the morning, was a call from the Officer of the Deck Chief in charge of Duty Turnover… claiming that one of the roving watches beheld the sight of their plane ROCKING upon the landing strip and what seemed to be muffled sounds. Of course, when approached, their leader… though a bit disheveled, seemed to be in good spirits, dismissing the mindful watch stander with a 'training exercise' excuse before disappearing back within.  
  
However, it is utterly undeniable to everyone at breakfast at the local galley that Coulson was in an undeniably good mood, practically glowing and smiling in a way that made the dark somber shroud that seemed to have been smothering him vanish. His old surety… and confidence seemed to have returned, and May found herself narrowing her eyes slightly as she paused in the midst of a methodical clinical attack upon her eggs. Somehow… his defeating some inner demons seem suspiciously correlated to the 'erratic rocking' of her Bus, and more and more she wondered WHAT he did.  
  
Then again, considering HER recent form of 'covert de-stressing' who is she to question him? Ward seems to be merely smirking slightly, something of a surprised yet suspiciously knowing look shared with her as the perfect soldier of their lot seems to have come to a rather typical male assumption. Fitz and Simmons are too busy discussing plans for the day, and yet, she can't help but notice Skye's reaction.  
  
Confused… that's understandable. But there's an odd blend of pleased and uncertain in her expression… utterly unbefitting someone who didn't know SOMETHING about their leader's suspiciously good mood.  
  
However… what is MOST important… is that Coulson had found some form of Catharsis in whatever Chaos happened last night. And as far as she is concerned… that is something worth letting the inquisition slide. Of course, later, she was tempted to change her mind, considering that, despite the obvious recent cleaning, the damage to the wood of Coulson's desk was rather noticeable and garish against the beautiful finish.  
  
And she damn near marched into his office to demand where an ENTIRE brand new bottle of honey could have disappeared off to in one night.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a Bonus gift to Petreska, a wonderful commenter who caught my hidden hint in my 'One for Sorrow' story. This one shot could either be a stand-alone, or side story to One For Sorrow, We'll find out eventually! Thank you for your idea, and here a Happy Birthday to you (even if it is a little belated)!
> 
> First things first, I'm still looking for a Beta to help me proof and edit. Any help at all would be greatly appreciated! And now, for my points:
> 
> 1\. Sorry for getting this out a bit late, hope it's a fun belated Birthday Gift! End of Holiday and beginning of year have been tricky, but it looks like things have settled a bit. 
> 
> 2.The title: Judas' Kiss is in reference for something big in the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. storyline about Coulson, and it's in reference to Tahiti.
> 
> 3\. I mean no offense to Tahiti or Tahitians. Lovely place, great folks. I'm just referencing the Tahiti in Coulson's memory.
> 
> 4\. All feedback is appreciated, including constructive criticism, and I adore all of you who left comments! I left the 'By The Norns' case purposefully enigmatic to foster the imagination. Speculate away!
> 
> The Standard Song and Dance:
> 
> I don't own the Avengers, Agents of SHIELD, Thor, Coulson, Loki, or any of the characters... they being the wonderful property of Marvel, Disney... and the brilliant writers/producers/ actors that bring such inspiring life to these characters.


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